


Harry Potter and the Skeleton Crown (Ron/Hermione, Harry/Draco, PG-13)

by buttsnax



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AGM-65 Maverick air-to-ground missiles, F/M, Het, Lockheed AC-130 Spectre, M/F, M/M, McDonnell Douglass F-4 Phantom, National Geographic's Crowns of the World, PowerPoint, Skeletons, Slash, Succubi of the Orient, m/m - Freeform, skeleton, skellingtons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 12:34:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4919761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttsnax/pseuds/buttsnax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance finding in the library sends the gang hunting after a legendary artifact that’s been tucked away within Hogwarts’ walls. Will Harry give in to the power of the Skeleton Crown and use it to exact revenge upon his enemies? Will Ron finally get to second base with Hermione? Is Snape a dickhead? And is Harry really gay? Yes to one of these and more!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harry Potter and the Skeleton Crown (Ron/Hermione, Harry/Draco, PG-13)

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: WIZARDS  
> TRIGGER WARNING: MAGIC  
> TRIGGER WARNING: WITCHES  
> TRIGGER WARNING: WANDS  
> TRIGGER WARNING: SPELLS  
> TRIGGER WARNING: WANDS (MAGIC)  
> TRIGGER WARNING: INCANTATIONS  
> TRIGGER WARNING: INVOCATION (AND MILD EVOCATION)  
> TRIGGER WARNING: IMPLIED ENCHANTMENTS  
> TRIGGER WARNING: SUCCUBI (OF THE ORIENT)  
> SPOOKY WARNING: SKELETONS

“... and that is why, despite their superficial similarity to the common House Elf, one should never hire an Erkling as a babysitter,” droned Professor Snape.  
  
Harry noticed that Ron was beginning to nod off, and nudged him roughly with his elbow. Ron sat up with a start, attracting Snape’s attention anyway.  
  
Snape whirled around and slammed his hands on Ron’s desk so as to look the young wizard right in the eye.  
  
“Am I boring you, Weasely?”  
  
“No, sir!” Ron squeaked, neck turtling into his shoulders. “You’ve been . . . very informational!”  
  
Snape nodded.  
  
“Erklings may well do your family some good,” he said. The class tittered.  
  
Then they hushed as the Dark Arts professor continued. “Perhaps you would be more interested in a _truly_ dangerous creature. A construct of dark magic, that some of you may even face not long after a suspiciously foreshadowing lecture.”  
  
Snape aimed his wand at the swath of sail cloth tacked to the classroom wall.  
  
_“Powerpointio!”_  
      
The white cloth lit up with a grainy, flickering picture of what looked to Harry like a human skeleton, only out its eyes blazed burning, red coals.  
  
An impressionable young Hufflepuff girl gasped and covered her eyes. It was very spooky.  
  
“Can anyone tell me,” purred Snape, “where Skeletons come from?”  
  
Hermione’s hand was in the air so fast it seemed almost magical, which meant it elicited no more attention from Snape than usual.  
  
Snape waited several seconds, giving his wand a good cleaning with the hem of his robes, but no other hands appeared.  
  
“Very well, Miss Granger,” he said after he’d let her squirm in her seat for a bit.  
  
“Skeletons are formed from bones inside of us, which are composed of a mix of calcium phosphate and organic tissue that allows them to grow as they age,” Hermione recited rather proudly.  
  
A look of shock passed over Snape’s face that was quickly replaced by restrained glee.  
  
“Wrong!” he snapped. “Wrong, and does it ever please me to say, _incredibly_ stupid.”  
  
Appearing floored, Hermione looked around the room for support. No one dared defend her.  
  
“Skeletons,” Snape said as he circled the class, “are diabolical constructs created entirely _by_ \--and animated with--dark magic.”  
  
He flicked his wand, and the image shown on screen changed to that of a skeleton holding an electric guitar while it stood atop a mountain of skulls. Harry thought he recognized the image from his uncle’s record collection.  
  
“They have no will of their own, but serve as the thralls of necromancers in their war against the living,” said Snape. “Dark wizards have been known to animate whole legions of skeletons–”  
  
Harry felt that was enough. “I think Hermione is right,” he interrupted. “We all have skeletons inside of us. All mammals do. Reptiles and birds, too. It’s why we have bones in our arms and hands and places.”  
  
Snape dipped his wand and the sail cloth screen rolled up and off the wall, landing neatly in the gilded chest beneath it.  
  
“Ten points from Gryffindor for talking out of turn. And _twenty_ points from Gryffindor for contradicting a professor.”  
  
Harry opened his mouth to object, but it was Ron’s elbow in his definitely-not-of-skeletal-origin ribs that made him close it.  
  
“It appears your little group is having trouble grasping the material,” said Snape. “So you don’t fall behind, you will each submit by next class a ten-page essay on the history of and defense against the common Skeleton. Understood?”  
  
As the students filed out, Draco stopped to roll his eyes at Hermione. “ _Skeletons inside me._ Good one, Granger.”

-xxx-

The three of them had holed up in the library--as much to get away from the mockery of Malfoy and his lackeys than to work on their punitive essay.  
  
“It’s not fair,” Ron whined over the top of Borgenwald’s _On Skellingtons and Other Dire Revenentes._ Or rather, over the bottom, as he was holding it upside down. “I wasn’t the one making things up about Skeletons! Why do I have to write this stinkin’ report?”  
  
Harry ran his fingers idly up and down the gilded spine of the great tome he’d pulled from the library shelf. He was doing his best to ignore Ron and Hermione’s endless bickering, which had begun almost the moment they’d left class. Hermione was right, of course, but that didn’t make her any less insufferable.  
  
“We weren’t making things up, dummy,” she said. “I’ve complained about it before, but the complete omission of a biological curriculum at this school is just _shocking_.”  
  
Ron appeared as though he was about to argue, but then his expression softened into one of surprised interest. Harry hadn’t seen Ron look that way at a book since Neville had snuck in a battered copy of _Succubi Species of the Orient._ That one had pictures.  
  
“˙pɹoן uɐɯ ou ןןɐɔ ןןɐɥs sǝuoʇǝןןǝʞs ɟo ǝuʍoɹɔ ǝɥʇ ɥʇǝssǝssod oɥʍ ǝɥ” Ron read aloud.  
  
Harry and Hermione looked at him quizzically.  
  
“How did you pronounce that, exactly?” Harry asked.  
  
“I just read it upside down,” said Ron. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”  
  
“That’s not how books work,” Hermione insisted. “That isn’t how _letters_ work. How did you do that? What spell did you use?”  
  
Ron mumbled something.  
  
“What?” Harry leaned in closer.  
  
“I have vertical dyslexia,” Ron said, going red.  
  
Hermione dropped both of the books she was holding and crowded in around Ron, who went even redder.  
  
_She’s touching me,_ he mouthed across the table to Harry. Harry chuckled.  
  
Unfortunately for him, Hermione’s eyes were all for the text. She took control of the book and flipped it over before narrowing her attention on a particular section.  
  
“Harry, listen to this,” she said, neglecting Ron in her normal fashion.  
  
_He who possesseth the Crowne of Skeletones shall call no man Lord_  
_The shackles which Bindeth thee shall fall and thy bonds Dissolveth_  
_And riseth up against the Prisons man hath created for man_  
  
_Thy enemies shall be harried by Phantoms and Spectres_  
_The fires of Judgement shall rain down from on high_  
_Signaling the Doom of the old order_  
  
Harry tried not to cringe. “Poetry isn’t really my thing.”  
  
Huffing, Hermione closed the book, kicking up a cloud of dust that went straight to Ron’s face. Thanks in large part to Hogwarts lax biological sciences curriculum, he remained blissfully unaware that the substance causing his coughing fit was likely comprised of dead skins cells that had flaked off wizards and librarians past.  
  
“Just think,” said Hermione, growing more excited. “If you had that crown, you could stick it to Malfoy _so hard._ ”  
  
“I think--” Ron began.  
  
Harry clenched his jaw. “That was one time, Hermione. I told you I’m not into that anymore.”  
  
There was a pause, and then Hermione cleared her throat. “Um. I meant as revenge.”  
  
It was Harry’s turn to go red.  
  
“So what,” he then said with a wave of his hand. “You found a verse in an old book. The crown’s probably not real, and even if it is, it’s gotta be long lost by now.”  
  
Hermione grabbed the book and spun it deftly upside down so that it faced Harry across the table. She opened it back up and practically stabbed the page with her finger. “Look. Here.”  
  
Harry tilted forward in his chair and found the passage Hermione had read to them. He flipped the page and read the other side.  
The book had diagrams, thorough ones that, while perhaps not quite as memorable as those found in _Succubi Species of the Orient_ , certainly drew the eye. The crown was of a simple circlet, ridged with organic bulges that stretched and curved upward. The overall effect was unsettling and vaguely sinister.  
  
“Is it a crown _for_ skeletons, or a crown made _out of_ skeletons?” Harry wondered aloud. “This looks like it could be bone.” The crown looked _a lot_ like bone.  
  
He turned to the next page and saw a drawing of the crown resting atop a skull. The skull seemed to be leering at him, as though it were alive and knew who he was. Harry quickly shut the book.  
  
“Are you sure this is safe?” he asked. “These Skeletons--Snape said they were the tools of dark wizards.”  
  
“Yeah, but fuck Snape,” Ron replied. “He’s a little bitch.”  
  
There was truth to Ron’s words. Harry considered them.  
  
“Besides.” Ron opened the book a third time and pointed to a line midway down the page. “The book seems pretty clear right here where it says ‘,ʎןʞɹɐp ɔıbɐɯ ʎq pǝʇuıɐʇ ʇou ʇǝʎ ǝɔuɐǝbuǝʌ ɟo uɹoq ǝʇɔɐɟıʇɹɐ uɐ˙,”  
  
Harry shared a worried glance with Hermione but didn’t comment.  
  
“Alright,” he said after contemplating the matter further. “I’ve made up my mind.” He rubbed his hands together and grinned. “Let’s unleash some spectral vengeance. Where do we find this thing?”  
  
Hermione left Ron’s side, much to his visible disappointment, and went back to Harry’s. They stared in trance as she poured through the pages (and sǝbɐd, respectively) and traced her finger down (or up) the columns of text at breakneck speed.  
  
When she failed to find what she was looking for she pulled several more books from what were seemingly unrelated shelves, saying only that whatever it was she sought had to be in there, somewhere. Several minutes later their table was transformed by a tall stack of books that wasn’t there before.  
  
“Here,” she said finally, indicating to some handwriting in the margin next to an illuminated painting of an ivory crown. The title on the book’s spine was _National Geographic’s Crowns of the World._ “I knew I’d seen a reference to this earlier.”  
  
Harry had to squint to read the note.  
  
_“I am the key to the hall of crowns.”_  
  
He frowned. “This just gets back to our problem. How are we supposed to find this hall of crowns?”  
  
“Well,” said Hermione, shutting the book on Harry’s fingers while reaching for the next one in the stack. “I thought I’d begin with reviewing the school’s original architectural plans and then cross-referencing those with–”  
  
Ron cupped his hands over his mouth.  
  
“Oi, Argus! Where’s the hall of crowns?”  
  
Argus Filch, caretaker of the grounds and three-time winner of the All-Hogwarts Sex-Offender Look-Alike Competition, shambled into view from behind a bookcase. He was breathing heavily.  
  
“And why would I be telling you that, young Weasley?” he barked.  
  
“We’re gonna use a skeleton’s hat to unleash some phantoms on Malfoy,” said Ron.  
  
Argus fondled his chin.  
  
“Well in that case, you want the south wing, fourteenth floor.” He patted his pockets, which gurgled, croaked, and finally made a jangling noise, in that order. His hand pulled out a keyring and dislodged an ancient looking one from the arrangement. He tossed it to Ron.  
  
“You’ll need that to open the door,” he said. “Be sure to wipe your shoes before going in. You kids are filthy.”  
  
He turned to leave them, but not before offering the young wizards some final encouragement. “That little shit Malfoy stole my hair once. Give ‘im hell for me.”  
  
When he’d gone, Harry slapped Ron on the back. “Well done, sir!”  
  
Hermione looked displeased. “How’d you know Filch would take your side? That was risky! He could have turned us in.”  
  
Ron acted sheepish. “Oh, um, you know. Fred and George mentioned it to me once. They’re a lot like me, but funnier and better at stuff.”  
  
It was growing late and their candles had burned down to mere stubs. The three agreed to meet the following day in the south wing after class, then made their way back to the dormitory. With a plan firmly in mind, they shrugged it off when their classmates asked how the skeletons inside them were doing, secure in the knowledge that they would have the last laugh tomorrow night.

-xxx-

The door was non-descript and in no way belied the importance of what was locked behind it, with the exception of the gold leaf and an engraved brass plaque--but this was a wizarding school and most of the doors looked like that. They’d already had one false start when Ron read his map backward and they ended up in a janitorial closet, and _that_ door had slightly more gold leaf around it than this one.  
  
Harry wiggled the key into the lock. The mechanism inside slowly turned, and Harry had to force it with a worrisome grating of metal-on-metal before it finally gave way with a click. The door creaked loudly as it swung open.  
  
The hall of crowns was even grander than Harry had imagined it to be. Marble pillars climbed fifty feet or more into an arched ceiling that was so high he could see tiny wisps of clouds forming. Shafts of golden sunlight poured into the room through massive stained glass windows like crystal rainbows, casting long shadows as the sun fell atop the rows of pedestals spread throughout the room.  
  
Each pedestal held a crown, and no two crowns were alike. Some sat on velvet cushions and sparkled with radiant jewels; others were wrought of stark iron and radiated auras of malice and unease. There were tiaras of carved alabaster and circlets of jade, wreaths of flowers as fresh and fragrant as the day they were picked, and crowns made of unrecognizable substances still wet and glistening.  
  
Enveloped by awe, Harry walked in reverence down the red and gold carpet that ran through the great hall.  
  
“Gee,” whispered Ron, tip toeing after him. For once Hermione was starved for words.  
  
They walked quietly through the marble forest, stopping now and then by consensus to admire a crown on display. The red carpet road branched off into smaller arteries that fed a distant forest of plinths scattered amongst the columns of the hall.  
  
When they came across the broken pedestal, they stopped. Initially no words were spoken. A circle lay etched into slate around it, burned deep into the floor by a powerful magic, leaving behind scotch marks and baleful residual energies that made the three wizards sick to their stomachs. The pedestal was shattered into blackened fragments, the largest of which lay several feet from the base with no sign of whatever relic it once held.  
  
Ron broke the silence.  
  
“˙ɯǝpɐıp s,ʍɐןɔuǝʌɐɹ'” he murmured, reading the bronze plaque set into the overturned plinth.  
  
Harry cast him a sidelong glance, but felt that now wasn’t the right time to say anything.  
  
His gaze then wandered to the vast sea of crowns around him. Suddenly he was overcome with the crushing enormity of the task ahead. There were hundreds of crowns here, each more majestic than the last, and each one emanating power he dare not disturb.  
  
Lost amid the grandeur, Harry felt humbled.  
  
“How will we ever find the Skeleton Crown?” he despaired. “It could be any of these.”  
  
“Yes,” said Hermione. “But it’s probably that one.”  
  
Harry followed the direction of her finger to a mountain of mixed bones. Surrounding it were human skeletons, rising half formed from the ivory mass. The skeletons’ arms were raised to the heavens, each clawing at the next tier of skeletons as if trying to escape their sublimation into the quagmire of tangled bone. Their forms became more ordered and defined as they rose into the captive sky of the great hall, creating a platformed ziggurat.  
  
A set of stairs made of rows and rows of skulls led up to an altar. On the altar lay a singular crown of curved and spiked bone. The four prostate skeletons of worshippers prayed to it from each direction.  
  
“Yeah,” said Harry. “That looks like it could be it.”  
  
They crossed the great expanse, leaving behind the myriad of legendary crowns, and ascended the steps of melded bone.  
  
At the altar, Harry went first by unspoken assumption. His hand reached out to touch the crown.  
  
“Wait!” said Hermione, who was now having second thoughts. “This could have consequences.”  
  
_I have only your best interest at heart,_ whispered a voice that seemed to emanate from inside their own heads.  
  
The wizards exchanged looks amongst themselves. Harry lowered his hand.  
  
“Um, crown?” he asked, hesitating. “Is  . . . is that you speaking to us?”  
  
_Yes,_ said the crown. _Put me on._  
  
“I have some concerns,” voiced Harry, unable to take his eyes off the mass grave he was standing on.  
  
_Do not fear, young wizard,_ said the crown. _I know you, and I know your struggle. I will grant you the power you crave; through me, vengeance shall be yours._  
  
Hermione sucked in her breath.  
  
“Mr. Crown,” she said, “I’m slightly worried about this all being a bit, no offense, evil.”  
  
_Is all death evil, my child?_ the crown asked. _Is it wrong to kill those who would do you harm, who do you harm right now?_  
  
“Yes,” said Hermione.  
  
“Nah,” said Ron.  
  
Harry bit his lip. “Maybe?”  
  
The crown’s voice was patient. _You are a relic--forgotten by the world, your power becoming more meaningless with each passing day. Does this displease you?_  
  
“That’s a little harsh,” said Harry, who was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was taking.  
  
_Your society is corrupt, stratified. You bow to an aged aristocracy who forged their place in blood and hold their bonds sacred above all else. Their blood will drown you as you struggle for your own place in this world._  
  
“It’s not like that,” Harry protested.  
  
“It’s a little like that,” said Ron.  
  
_You do not matter!_ Annoyance had crept into the crown’s voice. _Rise above your station, if you can. Take up the crown and batter down the elite who have squatted in their places of power._  
  
The ground began to rumble beneath their feet as the mountain of skulls reacted to the crown’s anger.  
  
_Cast aside the frailty of flesh and rain vengeance down on those who dare enslave you with their antiquated councils and houses!_  
  
Harry gripped the altar.  
  
“You don’t understand,” he said. “Wizards might seem like that to an outsider–”  
  
“Or an insider,” Ron mumbled.  
  
“--but you don’t know what it was like for me before I came here. _They_ took me in, _they_ accepted me.” A tear broke free and slid down Harry’s cheek. “Maybe it’s not perfect,” he rasped. “But I wouldn’t give up Hogwarts for anything.”  
  
_Oh,_ said the crown. _Shit. You’ve got me all wrong. I wasn’t talking about wizards or anything like that._  
  
Harry wiped his eyes. “You weren’t?”  
  
_No!_ said the crown. _That would be racist. I was referring to you kids being British. You’re from England, right?_  
  
"Right," mumbled Harry, embarrassed his friends had seen him cry.  
  
“I guess that makes more sense,” said Hermione. “But I’m pretty sure you’d turn us into skeletons if one of us wore you. The whole ‘cast aside the frailty of your flesh’ thing kinda gave that away.”  
  
Through the entire performance Ron hadn’t the courage to act. Now he stepped forward decisively.  
  
“Whatever,” he growled, grabbing the crown. “I know _I’m_ ready for some vengeance. Watch this, Hermione!”  
  
“No!” screamed Harry. Hermione would have screamed too, but because Ron was talking she hadn’t been paying attention.  
  
Ron smiled as he slipped the crown over his head. It fit perfectly.  
  
_Yes!_ bellowed the crown. _Seek vengeance on those who have wronged you!_  
  
Harry felt his body changing and staggered back. The flesh melted from his bones, leaving him cold and rigid. He opened his mouth to howl, to shriek, but he had no lungs. His legs buckled underneath him, and he feared he would fall.  
  
A surge of power like nothing he’d ever known burned through him. His fear became exhilaration, and with that energy he launched into the sky, smashing through the roof of the great hall at half the speed of sound.  
  
The Mk 107 vectored-thrust turbofan powerplant at the heart of his new McDonnell Douglas AV-8B Harrier II body roared to full power as he reached his optimal cruising altitude. Harry looked down and saw the forms of his friends rising up below him.  
  
Without Harry’s vertical takeoff capabilities, Ron’s McDonnell Douglass F-4 Phantom body had a difficult time breaking out of the building, but once the chase had begun, Harry knew Ron’s top speed of Mach 2.2 and higher operating altitude would quickly give him the advantage.  
  
Bringing up the rear was Hermione, now a Lockheed AC-130 Spectre gunship. With a maximum speed of only 480 kilometers an hour, she was the slowest, but her cannons would provide invaluable support for the two faster craft while catching the remaining stragglers that evaded their hellfire.  
  
Ron surged ahead and took point.  
  
“Set course for Wiltshire,” Ron broadcast. “Target: Malfoy Manor.”  
  
Harry readied his AGM-65 Maverick air-to-ground missiles with relish.  
  
“Roger that.”  



End file.
